


wake up this world (i'll stay with you)

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Series: Dizzy Up [5]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Goo Goo Dolls, Holidays, Jim's terrible accent, M/M, Scotland, Threesome - F/M/M, coming together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: "I can't help it if I want it all, Ny.""Nothing wrong with wanting, Jim," She laid her head against his chest; counted his heartbeats. "As long as everyone wants with you."During the months between the refitting of the Enterprise and Jim's birthday, Nyota and Jim retreat to Scotland for a holiday, and whilst there, dizzy up a certain shy Scotsman.





	wake up this world (i'll stay with you)

**Author's Note:**

> Non-profit fun only.

_Now come in from this storm_  
_ I taste you sweet and warm_  
_ Take what you need_  
_ Take what you need_  
_ From me_  
  
_ Wake up this world_  
_ Wake up tonight_  
_ And run with me_  
_ Run to me now_  
  
_ I'll stay with you_  
_ The walls will fall before we do_  
_ Take my hand now_  
_ We'll run forever_  
_ I can feel the storm inside you_  
_ I'll stay with you_

_**Stay with You**, _Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

Scottish mist thinned across the lochs and high, rugged hills of Scotty's birth. The sun was a lazy roll in the sky, just visible through the narrow window of their ancient shuttle, to the thin trails of blue, grey and green. It was such a pale landscape.

Jim's heart pounded through her palm, a nervous work of sweat between their shared fingers. It was still early days, she knew, barely a week from their first kiss, and yet, here they were, holding hands like teenagers. 

Nyota and Jim had taken the large shuttlecraft from the main spaceport, before they picked up a shuttle forty-five years out of date, with only six seats and a Driver that fixed them both with a suspicious eye.

"Aye, you're a good lookin' couple," He smoked a huge pipe in the style of earthen clay and brass. Only the sheen of chrome around the trumpeted end shunned it as a true replica. "'ere on honeymoon, are ye?"

Jim stretched out his arms with a smile.

"No, not yet," He said smoothly. Nyota's ponytail battered his face with the force of her double-take. "Hey, can I have a smoke of that?"

"Aye," The elderly man looked between them. A peaked cap, tartan jumper, wool trousers and heavy boots. "Cheeky one, ain't you? Now I be sayin'..." He handed over the pipe. Nyota glanced at the neglected controls. The rust scaled AutoPilot light beeped comfortingly on. "...that be a handsome lady, no mistake. Why ye be a fool not to snatch her up."

"This handsome lady has a tongue in her head," She crossed her arms, placing a heavy boot on the opposite seat. She'd been boiling in cord jeans and autumn jumpers, despite Scotty's insistence. Now, the wind guttered against the flimsy windows, shaking the bare metal bones of the ancient shuttle. The air was brisk and cool and chilled the hairs on Nyota's neck. Nugget trilled miserably on her knee. She soothed him with her thumb.

"One hell of a tongue," Jim boasted, smoke breaking between the white brackets of his teeth. He was stupidly handsome, but there was a manic crease in the corners of his eyes, a characterful crook in his grin, that broke his illusion of perfection. He was so brilliantly imperfect. Case in point, as if sensing the double entendre, he cleared his throat and put a protective arm around Nyota's shoulder. (She was yet to get used to him, to how tactile he was, to how much he needed to touch her, to shadow her waist and face with kisses, touches. Almost as if he was starved of it, and she thought sweetly, painfully, of those lazy blue eyes that first night, hazed with drink and bravado and a kind of shattering. She hadn't seen it at the time, could only laugh him off a horny hick, but the years hence had coloured her memories with new knowledge, new feeling.)

"By that," he clarified, hard. "I mean she's a genius xenolinguist. Best in the fleet.."

"Aye," The old man nodded. "I know who she is; a Lieutenant Uhura. And you, Captain Kirk." He retrieved his pipe with a chuckle. "Even in our backward hills, we hear yer names."

"Then..." Nyota smiled. "You know we are meeting Montgomery Scott, then?"

"Aye!" The driver brightened. "Our lad, Monty! Yes, what a legend he be." Puffing up his chest, he added; "We were born in the same village, him and I. Decades between us, but he's our resident genius, don't ye know, and we all claim he's our distant cousin or whatnot."

* * *

Scotty's tartan was a shock in the tiny, bustling spaceport. Porthos, twinned in a matching jacket, mouthed at his lead before a whistle from Jim nearly left him hurling over a stunned Scotty. Jim bounced down the stairs, two steps at a time, more in place with the energetic rabble-rouser than the mature, moralistic captain. 

Keenser, in identical tartan, was chattering to a group of enthralled schoolchildren. The spiny hilt of his head was just visible above their smiling faces. He glanced at the mess of Scotty, Porthos and a hollering Jim, and rolling his eyes, turned back to his captive audience.

"Hello, Keenser," Nyota slid behind Scotty's second in command. Nugget trilled his greetings from her shoulder. The school children began to gasp and pull at each other. 

"Hey, sweetheart," He stuck a spiny finger in Scotty's direction. Jim was currently covered in Porthos, laughing himself hoarse as the lead tangled up around Scotty's skinny ankles. "Scotty is waiting for you."

"I can see that."

"Lassie!" Scotty waved, hazardously manoeuvring Jim, Porthos and the meandering lead. "So good to see you!"

"Good to see you too, Monty," She said, enjoying the colour in his cheeks at his first name. Few used it, and it was one of the privileges she alone enjoyed. From inside the shuttle, she saw their driver watching them intently, his pipe smoke catching the ends of his whiskers. She snuck him a smile. "And how are your cousins?"

"Oh, you've been hearin' the local gossip?" She decided she liked the way red pinched the tips of his ears. "Well, as far as I've heard, too many to count. Makes Christmas a bit of a bloody bother."

"What's a bother?" Jim popped up between them, Porthos propped in his arms. In the years since the academy, his hair had softened, curled gently around his ears and drooping onto his forehead. With the aide of Porthos, it had ruffled up into the mess from yesteryears."Not talking about me again, are you?" He winked, jiggling the beagle. "But what I've heard Scotty, your country has one hell of an inbreeding problem."

"Shut yer yap, Captain," Scotty slapped his back. "An' give me back my beagle. He's too used to being carried around like a king, that one."

"Scotty..." Nyota picked at Porthos's tartan dog coat. "Are you ever going to return him?"

"Nah," Scotty took Porthos off Jim a little too quickly. "Archer had already replaced the wee dog, and what would poor Porthy think, playin' second fiddle to a sexier model? No..." He turned the dog over in his arms, Porthos giving his nose a tiny lick. "...couldn't break with the greedy bastard."

"Learned from the best, didn't he?" Keenser perked up between them. He nods at Jim. "Aye, Captain." 

"How's it going, Keenser?"

"Not too bad. Overworked. Underpaid."

"Bullshit, yer little tart!" Scotty batted him away. He pulled at a face at Nyota's playfully appalled expression. "We get paid about the same, honest."

* * *

Scotty's cottage was a short, stubborn mound of brick and chrome, sat between two towering hills next to an old loch that wove mist on the water each morning. Scotty had set up the spare bedroom for Nyota, patchwork quilts on a steel single bed, vintage furniture and lace on the windows. It could have been pre 20th century, if not for the engineering shining in the walls, lightening working its way through the dull floral wallpaper. Out the back window was a menagerie of sheds and greenhouses, bursting full of Scotty's pet projects. 

That first night, Nyota bundled herself in an old woolly smock leant to her by Scotty. Even if she had come prepared, the boring regulation pyjamas she'd tugged along were no keeper for heat. Outside the chimaera machines sparked, hissed, sent off swirls of light and flame like Catherine wheels. The single bed awaited her wearily. Jim must be downstairs on the couch or sharing with Scotty. It came to her as no surprise that her and Jim's new relationship had registered nowhere. The only one who had an inkling was McCoy, who'd spent their last dinner together trying to crack open her head with his stare. 

Funny that she would observe Spock watching McCoy exactly the same way. 

Nugget's miserable trill woke her from her reverie.

"I know, Nugget," she picked up the shivering fluffball, rubbing his tremoring body with her forefinger and thumb. "Don't worry, I'll get the fire going."

The room had a crank fireplace, an old computerised heating device that still used chopped wood and an instigation engine. It was rusted and old but the crank had been freshly oiled, and soon the room was lit with the cosy licks of firelight. Exhausted from the long journey, she wrapped up the snoozing Nugget in a blanket on her bedside table and got into bed. She mentally wondered if and when Jim would appear.

It was midnight when the door creaked open.

The floorboards bounced with Jim's quick, chilly hops, as the blankets were rustled back. Cold air raked up her bare legs.

"Jim!" 

"Sorry, Ny," In the dark she could see the swell of his head, the peak of moonlight touching his teeth, the whites of his eyes. Her talented ears detected the chatter of his teeth. "It's cold on that sofa. Porthos nicked the blanket."

"So you think you'll come up and make me cold as well?"

"Well..." She could feel all the goose pimples on his skin, patterned nubs across his bare chest. "...I was thinking we could snuggle." 

"Are you in your boxers?"

"What? Yeah."

"No wonder you're freezing to death, you idiot."

"Thought you could warm me up, me wee bairn."

"Jim..."

"Open to me, me blessed love! Let's go t'gether, to pick wild blooms to tie to yer heavin' bodice..."

"Jim..."

"...and we'll rut in the..."

"_ Jim _!"

Nugget, wrapped in Nyota's discarded pyjamas, gave a sharp, irritable squeak.

"Ah, nuts," Jim poked his head up. "I woke him, did I?"

"Hm." Nyota hugged his neck, sliding him along his body. He was cold, a streak of chill against her belly. "Hates the weather as much as you do."

"Figured he'd be okay, seeing as he's covered in fluff," Jim, dozy, snuggled his head inside her neck, his breath making her shiver, and not from the frigid air. "God, Ny. You're so_ warm."_

A soft pattering drummed on the floor, and the bed dipped with the weight of a large, sleepy beagle. 

* * *

It was morning, but only just. Porthos had abandoned the bed during the night and in his travels, had left the door ajar. 

The fire had burnt down during the evening, having left them locked into each other in the small hours. Wide awake, Nyota rose and left the blankets bundled around Jim, the muss of his hair visible just above the lumps of patchwork and fur. 

The wind up of the old fire allowed a bluster of heat to scald her freezing feet. Stealing an old jumper from the back of the rocking chair, she turned to the window, where Nugget was grumbling on a heated pillow.

"Hey," She whispered, cupping him in her palm. "Hey, it's okay."

He cooed at the heat of her touch, rolling about in her palm. With a smile, she kissed his tiny body, before a stir of movement caught her eye, just through the window.

Misty light caught the sweat on Scotty's back and shoulders. With his jacket tied around the thin slink of his waist, he crisscrossed from one shed to another with a coil of wires slung over his arm, Porthos parting the dewed grass behind him. He ran the cable from the boot of a huge, antique tractor. Satisfied, he reached around to turn on the ignition. 

Nothing.

Swearing, he tried again.

Nothing.

Porthos curled his tongue with a yawn and scratched at his ear.

Scotty gave a car a single, hard kick.

The roar of life upped Scotty like a whipcrack, and with a whoop, he rubbed his hands together, ducking under the machine.

She paused, licking her dry lips, and placing the purring Nugget in her top pocket, she made her way downstairs, closing the bedroom door with a soft click.

* * *

Scotty was palming the oil off his hands with a towel, mumbling equations under his breath.

"Monty?" Nyota called, lightly. She'd slipped on a pair of outside clogs and a scarf, and smoking warm in her hands were two mugs of hot chocolate.

"Why, lassie!" He wiped the streak of oil off his forehead, beaming brightly at her. "Good morn, Lieutenant. Hope I didn't wake ye."

"No, you didn't," she handed him a mug. He accepted it gratefully, blowing at it. "But I saw you got that tractor working."

"Oh, aye!" He nodded at it. "She's a tricksy one, that. Since diesel went out of fashion, I've 'ad a hell of a time gettin' her to sing. I combined old earth coal and dilithium, churned it all up into a cocktail that could get me arrested in seven different quadrants." He bit his lower lip, before taking a testing swig of his drink. "Blimey, lass. Ye 'ave got the best balance of milk and chocolate I've tasted. Can never get that blasted replicator right."

"I won't say anything, Monty," She said with a smile. "Your experiments are safe with me."

"Ah, thank ye." He nodded with a quick, nervous dart of his chin. She smiled further, tasting the sweet burn of her own hot chocolate. "Why, ye don't get anywhere without tryin' a few things."

"Potentially dangerous illegal explosives?" She wheedled. She couldn't help it. "If you say so, Monty. We can't all have the benefit of being mad geniuses."

"Genius?" Scotty snickered, a playful glint in his eye. "Why, awfully kind of you to say so, Ny." He paused. "But ye'll keep it to yourself...?"

"Of course, Monty," she rolled her eyes. "You know I won't. Come in inside, I'm freezing."

"Aye." He trotted after her."Good thinkin', Batgirl."

* * *

The smell of hot cinnamon porridge toasted the kitchen. Posted on the whitewashed walls was a picture of the Enterprise crew on Jim's birthday, toasting drinks with lips worked with "happy birthday" in different combinations. Above the cooker was a moving postcard of a sleepy Porthos and Nugget. 

"Do you have any family?" she asked, straightening the picture.

"Aye..." Scotty grinned, waved his hand. "...been alone since I was a wee babe. I was eleven when there was the accident."

She looked at him for a long time.

"Accident?"

"Shuttlecraft. There was a problem with the plumbing." He ran the ladle around the steaming pot. He licked his lips and did not look at her. "The engineering was off."

"Scotty..." She touched his shoulder. He shimmered away slightly; gave a tight smile. "I'm so sorry. That must have been terrible."

"Oh aye. A long time ago now, lassie." He uncorked his canteen and added a flourish of scotch to the brew. "They took me into care. They were good to me, although it was a bit lonely at times."

He gestured half-heartedly to a picture, just visible beneath the silent, snoring forms of Porthos and Nugget. Nyota pulled it free, folding out the corners.

It was a family of four. A freckled father with Scotty's heterochromia, a mother with soft hips and the burnished gold of Scotty's hair with a laughing baby girl in her arms, and sat between them, all cheeky grin and anxious eyes, was nine year old Scotty. 

"You had a sister."

"Aye. Mary. She was three."

"She's beautiful."

"That she was." He gently plucked the photograph out of her hands, tucking into his top pocket. He saw her gentle smile and returned it. "I was lucky to have had them at all."

Her fingers danced to her necklace, the warmth of it carrying into her palm. The air from the open door tickled her bare ankles, Nugget purring contentedly against her chest. Her hair, wild, stuck out from her sleep, and the jumper itched sweet around her neck. All these sensations made the moment hang between them, for he was looking at her, soft and long before he cleared his throat and turned to the cupboards.

"I know porridge is a cliche, but this is a good recipe," He tapped the ladle on the side. "I've got some jams in the cupboard, and sugar and honey and all that good stuff."

"Oh..." She fished around in the cupboards. "Do you have any marmalade?"

"You want marmalade with ye..."

"Yes please."

"Well, I have some Tiptree tangerine jam, yer freak. Me, I'll 'ave some bramble jam, like a normal person. How about Captain Mcperfect? Missed 'im on the couch this morning. Possibly snuck into my bed, the sneaky bastard."

"Tangerine jam sounds amazing," She began to sort through the jars, placing two on the sideboard. Tangerine for her, Cherry for Jim. "He likes wild cherries."

"Wild cherries? What's the difference, I say." He placed a half-open tin of chickpeas on the table. At Nyota's questioning brow, he shrugged. "For Keenser. He can't stand hot food. Eats only beans and nuts, and now only the spiny bastard wants is chickpeas. I've 'ad to stop him divestin' entire pots of hummus. Might send 'im to rehab if he takes any more. Alas!" He waved his hand. Jim, bleary-eyed, still in his boxers, swayed in the doorway. Scotty snorted. "Put on a top lad, before your nips take someone's eye out."

Nyota choked back a giggle and handed Jim a bowl heavily topped with cherry jam.

"Not my fault your climate could make my nipples etch glass," He took Nyota's bowl with a wink. Scotty pulled out some cold chicken for Porthos. Jim took a shovel of porridge and swore, holding his hand over his mouth. "This is hot, Scotty!"

"Blimey, porridge from a boilin' pot bein' hot? No wonder ye were top of your class."

"Blow on it, Jim."

"Cherries. My favourite." He whispered in her ear, botched accent firmly in place. "Ye know me so well, me blessed dove."

She gave his shoulder a hard slap. Nugget cooed, approving.

"That's offensive," Scotty said, smoothing out Porthos's ears. "Ye sound like a drunk Canadian."

* * *

It took a lot of pulling and swearing and borrowed sweaters, but they managed to get (finally) dressed. Jim followed her into the shower, and she hoped Scotty hadn't heard their laughter (amongst other things) bouncing down the stairs.

Only Keenser gave her a funny look as they all trundled into the hovercar. 

Fort William was an old Scottish town just twenty minutes north of the cottage in the Hover Car and sat below the peak of Ben Nevis. It was a town of greys, red postboxes and cream cottages huddled together down long cobble streets overseen by the steeple of a large church. It appeared untouched, a fact Scotty had mournfully explained, to keep the local tourists coming in and out. With such wonders to be found in the galaxy, what did a small Scottish town and a now dwarfed peak have in a contest to New Vulcan, or the many colourful, weird and wonderful planets they were discovering all the time?

"I like it," Jim, hung out of the window with Porthos, was eyeing a wood-panelled bookstore, filled to the brim with antique hardbacks. "It's authentic you know, and very human. Sometimes it's nice to have a look in the past."

"Authentic, my arse," Scotty shook his head. "When I was a kid, I saw all the refits they did under that hundreds year old cobble street. Had to line it with fresh plumbing and pipes that looked like strobe lighting. After that, every cobble was put back in exactly the same place, like a huge historic jigsaw. Took them months."

In the window of the book shop, a large reedition was opened up and lit, written in old Gaelic. 

A swell of excitement jumped in Nyota's throat, and she jiggled Scotty's shoulder.

"Can we stop here? This place looks really interesting!"

"I'm all for that," Jim bounced out of the hovercar, Porthos at his heels. "I want to try some haggis."

Scotty paled.

"Ugh, no you don't," He shuffled out after Nyota, blinking up at the bookstore. "Oh, great. Thought I was a nerd."

* * *

They were all nerds.

Such wonderful, wonderful nerds.

How they got all their books back in the hovercar, she wasn't quite sure.

Jim had brought a literal boatload of old nautical records, novels, and textbooks, alongside literature classics bound in faded gilt and marble paper. 

Scotty's scoffing had faltered as soon as he discovered they had an engineering section.

As for Nyota, the expensive rendition of _ Gaelic Languages - Folkloric Roots of AngloSaxon And AngloCeltic Syntax _was held to her chest like a holy grail.

By her feet bustled books fat with languages, some old texts that hadn't been scanned into computers, and even one or two faded copies of her childhood favourites sluggishly translated into Gaelic (when given the time, she will correct the translations and upload them onto the databases.)

"Are ye seriously...." Scotty eyed Jim already buried in a book about maritime struggle. "...gonna go home and read?"

"Not yet," Nyota said brightly. "We haven't had our lunch yet."

"I'm starved," Jim put down his book, stealing Nyota's bookmark. "I haven't had my haggis yet."

Scotty sighed.

"Ye won't like it, C'ptain."

"Hush. I've eaten Klingon cuisine before, haven't I Ny?"

"Yep." She nodded. "You almost choked."

"So did you."

"From laughter, Jim."

"So...!" Jim puffed out his chest. "I can handle some sheep's offal."

* * *

Long story short; he couldn't.

"I told 'im," Scotty had his feet propped by the fire. Nyota was curled in the opposite armchair, book open on her knees and a pencil chewed between her teeth. Nugget was snoozing between the creases of Jim's _ A Tale of Two Cities. _ "Knew the pretty boy wouldn't like it."

As if on cue, Jim crept from the toilet.

"Aye." Scotty returned to his engineering manual. "Stopped bein' sick, 'ave ye? Tell me ye cleaned up, at least."

"Ugh, Scotty." Jim crawled up beside him. "How the hell can you eat that stuff?"

"Back in the day, the poor had little choice," Scotty stiffened as Jim pulled himself closer. Nyota lowered her book. "To be fair, it be a tradition I dunnae like, myself."

"Oh." Even pale and clammy, Jim could look handsome. Drinking in the signals, a naughty smirk began to play in the corners of his mouth. He winked at Nyota and sidled closer. "So what do you like then?"

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat, pulling himself further into the couch cushions. Jim's socked foot pushed teasingly against Scotty's thigh. "...f-food wise? Thought I made that clear when yer crazy arse came all a wanderin' onto my frozen planet." 

"Oh, I knew." His face carried the shadow of that first night in Iowa, minus the drunkenness. "Keen on sandwiches, aren't you?"

"I-I...!" Scotty leapt up, suddenly. "Need to c-check somethin'. In the shed. Right."

He fled.

Jim smiled after him. 

"He's cute when he's flustered."

"Jim..." 

"Yeah, I know." He flashed her a smile. "But c'mon. You like him too, don't you?"

It had been so long since she'd seen that face. The cocky farmboy with the devastating eyes; only now, it inspired a very different feeling. 

"Okay." She crossed her legs. "I do like him." She bit her lower lip and smiled. "I don't quite know why, or how. But Jim..." She joined him on the couch. A fierce part of her wanted to kiss that infuriating, broken smirk off his face, and she did, with killing tenderness. "...I wouldn't do anything about it. We're together, now." She tested his lips once more. "Aren't we?"

"Yeah." Jim relaxed. He hugged her, hard. "We are, aren't we?"

"Are you afraid I'm going to leave?"

"Everyone else has."

"Don't be dramatic. You know full well I'm not everyone else."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. "God, yeah. But..."

"But what?"

"Would you be very upset?"

"If...?"

"If..." He peered at the empty seat. "...maybe, if more was the merrier?"

She sat up, suddenly. Nugget cooed awake. If he had eyes, he would be blinking.

"Are you serious?"

"Are you upset?"

"No." She wasn't. Taken aback, sure. For all of this to happen so early in their relationship. For Scotty to look at her so softly, for Jim to take her hand on the street, the shuttlecraft, as they sleep. Her chest swelled again, this time with a different and very shaky excitement. "Do you think he'll say yes?"

"I dunno." Jim stared at the door. They could hear Scotty's hurried steps on the gravel. "I can't help it if I want it all, Ny."

"Nothing wrong with wanting, Jim," She laid her head against his chest; counted his heartbeats. "As long as everyone wants with you."

* * *

The next day, they drove out to the loch in the antique tractor. Porthos howled from the back, his ears spinning in the wind. The water was still and shimmering ice grey in the sunlight; Jim stripped off, all the cold pimpling his broad back and shoulders, and waded into the shallows.

"Jim!" Nyota was settling out the picnic on the shore. They'd brought thermos flasks, food baskets, replicators. Scotty was fussing about in the back of the truck and hadn't seen Jim's stunt. She could already hear the_ ye mad bastards _echoing off the cliff face. "Are you crazy?"

"I-I-It's...fuck!" Jim dared a step further. "...r-refreshing, N-Ny! Come on i-in!"

"No."

"C-C'mon, B-Baby."

"Don't call me that. I'm gonna tell Bones."

"I t-thought y-you l-lov...!"

"Jesus H. Christ!" Scotty slammed the truck boot shut. "What are you doin', C'ptain? Tryin' to give yeself a stroke? Get out of there!"

* * *

The mountains reached inward toward the deep, drowning sky, enclosing them within the seat of the Loch. The fire crackled in a bed of bracken and soil. Nyota zipped up her hoodie, tucking her ponytail into the neck.

Jim sat, a sulk cocooned in blankets. Scotty poked at the fire, carefully trying not to catch Nyota's eye.

They both failed spectacularly.

"Yeah, yeah," Jim shivered. "Laugh it up. It's not summer if you don't swim."

"Jim," Nyota passed him a hot chocolate. "You call this summer?"

"Point taken." He turned to Scotty. "You took a picture, didn't you?"

"That I did, lad."

"Where is it?"

"In the good Doctor's inbox."

"Scotty, when my blood once again reaches my hands, you're a dead man."

Their laughter travelled and tangled in the mist.

* * *

In the following weeks, they crawled the bars in the local towns, met many "cousins" of Scotty, trekked Ben Nevis, read books and played old games next to the fire (Keenser cheated; she cheated right back and beat him at Poker.) They drank like fish until Nyota's head was forthy, her body sluggish and silly, every new idea as good as the last. At midnight, she and Jim snuck out to the lake and returned in the early light with frozen limbs and smiles, and Scotty had another rant, this time armed with heated blankets and hot chocolate. 

Within a week, everyone in the town knew her name, and in another week, were congratulating Scotty on finding such a nice girl, and wasn't it wonderful to have a famous xenolinguist in town, and to make sure to invite everyone to the wedding and wouldn't it be wonderful to have multi-gifted wee bairns running all over the place?

The other half of the town said Jim was such a nice boy and wasn't it wonderful to have a celebrity in town and wasn't Mr Scott so lucky, to have a nice boyfriend, so handsome and funny, and surely they would all be invited to the wedding and wouldn't it be wonderful to have multi-gifted wee bairns running all over the place?

Scotty's flush went from mild pink to beetroot and in the end, he gave up trying to explain, could only mumble and nod and pay for his groceries, fleeing back into his beloved truck.

Over the weeks, Nyota's appetite for wickedness seemed to grow, not helped by Jim's sweet, sultry fixations. Who knew, this was a joint seduction; but she wanted Jim, wanted Scotty, both of them. The fresh air washed away her common sense, and with the two of them she felt free and safe and at night, she could still stand at her window and see the stars. 

* * *

The week before they were due to return, to take the shuttlecraft and stand before their new ship, did the three of them venture out beneath the stars, to toast their holiday, the stars, their absent friends.

"Do ye miss it?" Scotty asked. The fire leapt between them, made shadow masks of their faces. "The stars, C'ptain?"

"Naturally," Jim's face was upturned to the silver-studded black. "It's my home, that is. Or..." He looked at Nyota. "...it was."

She laughed, low and sweet, and unafraid, she leant over and kissed him, as Scotty coughed, taking a swig of his canteen.

"I'll, uh..." He stood up with a pained smile. "I'll let ye two alone, me thinks. I've got to..."

"Wait a minute there, Mr Scott." Jim flung himself up. Scotty paused, half tumbling over his own feet. Porthos, coiled beside the fire, lifted his head, curious. "What makes you think you're going anywhere?"

"I dunnae want to..."

"Monty," Nyota cupped his cheek, his skin scalding beneath her fingertips. "We want you to stay. Don't we, Captain?"

"That's an order," Jim said with a grin, before adding; "It's not a real order, Scotty. But if you want..." He clapped his hand on his shoulder. "We want you to stay, Monty."

Monty's eyes seemed to catch the starlight and keep it. Yes, he was no James Kirk. His body was lean but beset with a bookish softness. His face, unremarkable, was instead lit by his intelligence, his good-natured cheek, all his grounded conscience and goodness. She touched his chin, lifted her head to his lips, and kissed him.

Scotty did not kiss back, not before she felt Jim's warm palms shift up and under his broad chest. She opened her eyes, and with a smile, saw Jim kiss the space beneath his earlobe. A blush spread across his cheeks, from the tips of his nose to the ends of his ears.

"I-I..." Jim nipped his neck and made him startle; Nyota laughed and butted her head into his chest. The drink burred in her throat and chest, and who knew, she could be this warm? "...are ye sure...?"

"I dunno," Jim whispered in Scotty's ear. Scotty swore and swatted at him. "Ny, you sure?"

Nyota smiled so hard her cheeks would break. She wound her arms around Scotty's neck, bringing his forehead down to meet hers. 

"Please, Monty," she was useless at flirting, always had been. Too cold, too sterile, too handy with a list and a pen. But now, so content, she couldn't help but try. "Do you mind?"

"I'd be one mad bastard if I did..." He squeaked again as Jim's hands drifted a little lower. Nugget, confused, trilled in return.

That did it. Scotty broke from them, half laughing, distress and delight a worrying mix on his face, and she couldn't help herself, she had to reach for him again, to hold him, to kiss him. She'd always had that impulse, to care, to take and soothe and _ have. _ She'd had it with Spock, so many times, but had to push it down with logic, with patience, what what was acceptable and what wasn't. 

To feel Scotty melt so wholesome into her arms was a drug she felt she would never tire of. Full-blooded responsiveness, matched in her need, in Jim's need, as he slid up beside her with a childish pout, and she caught and kissed him too, as he kissed Scotty, kissed her, then Scotty again, with the stars high and clear above, and the mist rolling off the shore.

* * *

That night, in Nyota's bedroom, two pairs of feet, four paws, and a tribble all huddled in her single bed.

The stars blinked through the dusty lace curtains of the small, boxed window, gleaming over the expanse of the weathered loch, and Nyota, warm and wrapped up, with the stars and land in sight, slept, at peace, her breath tuned to the language of their heartbeats. 

* * *

_ oh, and I'll stay with you _


End file.
